


Sleeping With Ghosts

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Masturbation, Memories, Sad, Squirting, Tearjerker, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Connor pleasures himself in Hank's bed, basking in the act of a perfect love.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Sleeping With Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major Character Death. Trans Connor, the terms used are slit and dick.
> 
> Notes: A literal "tearjerker". Title borrowed from a Placebo song.

"That's right, Connor. Do it like that. God, you look so pretty with your legs spread just for me."

Connor's lids fluttered at the sound of Hank's voice. It was always a balm on his spirit to hear Hank's gravelly voice speak words of praise directed at him.

It had taken so long after the revolution to forgive himself for his crimes; longer still to fully accept himself as a living person deserving of equal rights. Hank had helped with that. Every word from his lips sounded like a prayer, and Connor came to realize Hank saw him as more than a person. Hank worshipped the ground he walked on and treated him as a precious, special being, not only deserving of equal rights but the whole pie—at least when it came to what Hank could offer.

So Connor often lay like this, his eyes closed, Hank's hands gentle on his thighs as he spread them. Hank would plant kisses up the insides of them, learned patience allowing him to draw their encounters out. Connor would whine, his slit dripping with want as Hank brushed his facial hair against it in the whisper of a caress. He slid his own hand between his legs, eager to relieve some of the need.

"Fuck, I love it when you touch yourself." Hank whispered. "Go on, then. Show me how much you want me."

Connor gathered up some of his slick, coating his little dick with it. He groaned as he touched it, but he wanted more. Wanted Hank's dick inside him, filling the empty spaces within. He slipped two fingers inside, keeping up the friction on his dick with his thumb. He'd give Hank a good show. Maybe afterwards Hank would be so worked up he'd skip the rest of the foreplay and fuck Connor into the mattress. 

Connor was in the mood for that—to have Hank inside him, the stench of his sweat assaulting Connor's senses, his deep voice spilling out filthy words of all the things he wanted to do to Connor. Accusing him of being a honey trap sent by CyberLife to seduce him. Of which he'd assure Hank—in his most seductive voice—that it simply wasn't true, that it was Hank who had perverted him with his wicked human ways.

Connor gasped, his eyes still closed. After all, it wouldn't do to see Hank's mouth slightly open, his front teeth digging into his lower lip as he forgot himself in Connor's presence. That might drive Connor over the edge and then it would all be over much too soon.

"You gonna squirt for me, boy? Stain my sheets again?" Hank's voice was labored, and Connor knew he was close. If he opened his eyes now, he'd see Hank gripping his own dick, jerking himself off almost on autopilot. Connor loved that he could make Hank depart from his senses and do whatever Connor wanted. He held all the cards, all the power, even when Hank held him down against the pillows with one strong hand on the back of his neck.

"Hank!" Connor whined. "I'm coming!" He'd once been ashamed of the fact his orgasms soaked the bed, but he'd grown to love the way he came once Hank admitted it was a huge turn-on. He screamed, his voice devolving into static as he sprayed his orgasm all over the comforter.

Connor lay down on the pillows, recovering. This was the hardest part. It always had been. Afterwards, in the dark. Coming down from heavenly bliss to the hard truths of the mortal plane.

Connor opened his eyes to find himself alone. This was his reality, now. Sometimes he used his voice recorder to play comforting things Hank had said to him after sex, but that was too much this time. He'd bought into the fiction that Hank was really there with him, and opening his eyes to find he was only a figment of Connor's memory and imagination was like losing him all over again.

He pulled Hank's comforter up to his nose and scanned it. There wasn't much of Hank's DNA left after six months. It had largely been superseded by Connor's emissions, and he knew he would have to give in and wash the comforter soon. The closet was still full of Hank's shirts that he couldn't bring himself to get rid of. He clung to every strand and fiber of Hank like he might resurrect him in some future age. 

It was unhealthy. It was a maladaptive coping method. Connor knew all that. He'd read all the books for androids coping with loss, but none of them seemed to understand the depth of the bond he'd forged with Hank after thirty years by his side. He'd watched his husband age while he'd remained forever young, and Connor understood quite acutely the curse of immortality. The concept of eternity was long without Hank in it, and he knew there would be a time when he stopped replacing parts so he might follow Hank into the darkness.

Connor allowed himself to cry, opening the prerequisite valves. It didn't relieve the pressure like it seemed to for humans, but it seemed like the only appropriate reaction. He couldn't keep doing this—living with Hank's ghost in his life and his bed, but android memories weren't fallible like human ones. He wasn't going to forget Hank. Hank would always be with him, the memory of him preserved in silicon for as long as Connor existed. Every phrase he'd ever uttered. The scent of his body. Lists of his favorite things. The taste of his kiss. So much of Connor had become Hank that it was impossible to know where Hank ended and he began.

Such was the curse of being an android, but it was his burden to bear. Hank had loved him. That was a blessing. He couldn't let it become something he resented.

He spotted a grey hair on the bedside table, lodged underneath the dusty alarm clock. He tugged on it and it came free. A scan revealed it was one of Hank's.

Connor smiled, remembering how soft Hank's hair was. Like clouds growing on his scalp. Connor had always loved nuzzling his cheeks against it. He held the singular strand in the palm of his hand and closed his fist around it, placing his hand over his heart.

"I love you, Hank." He smiled, glad to have discovered this precious piece of Hank to add to his collection. He supposed he shouldn't tell his therapist about that, but everyone grieved in their own way. How else was a state-of-the-art detective android supposed to mourn, than to collect and archive every shred of evidence regarding his beloved?


End file.
